


A Twelve In the Capitol

by MockingjayWannabe



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Death, F/M, First Hunger games, Pre-Hunger Games, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 20:07:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12515528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MockingjayWannabe/pseuds/MockingjayWannabe
Summary: ~Justice Speaker and the Avenger, a 12 and a Capitol~Latel gulped, and he began to sweat again. Even some of the soldiers, clad in full body armor, looked nervous. President Parch spread his arms, a wide, maniacal smile stretching his face to the limit."Now, ladies and gentlemen, loyal citizens of our beloved Capitol, may we begin the preparations for the rebels' punishment?"A murmur of agreement could be heard, but no one put their heart into it."Let the first-ever Hunger Games begin!"It was at that moment that Latel saw the flecks of dried blood under the president's fingernails."And may the odds be ever in your favor!"~A fifteen-year-old girl living in the bombed villages of District 12~A sixteen-year-old boy living in the Capitol who seeks justice for the Districts~One plan to keep her family alive~One chance to be the truth-speaker he always wanted to be~The first ever Hunger Games~The first ever 12 in the Capitol~





	1. Prologue

Latel shifted nervously in his seat, fidgeting with his bow tie for what must've been the fiftieth time in the last five minutes. He felt ridiculous; he was the only one wearing a business suit in a room full of armor-clad soldiers. But then again, he was just a secretary. Surely President Parch wouldn't expect him with a hand grenade?

 _Speak of the devil and he shall come_ , Latel mused, as the quiet chattering faded away. In the doorway of the War-map room stood President Pruno Parch in all his pretentious glory, with a crisp white suit, platinum blonde hair gelled back, and a gold ring on each of his fingers. He strode briskly into the room, gaze sliding over even the most important and contributional commanders. No one was worthy of his attention.

President Parch took his seat at the end of the War-map. The holographic images flickered, and he eyed a pile of rubble on the North-East coast of Panem. "What's this?" he questioned. "It seems like the Capitol's techs were quick to update the Map," he shared a coy look with Greto Grenfell, his commander-in-chief. Latel didn't know what was so funny; it was just the remains of 13. But then again, the President was rumored to have somewhat lost his head.

"How's 12?" President Parch asked, quickly moving onto another subject.

"The bombs worked even better than we thought - we completely destroyed their ammunition tower and supplies," Grenfell smirked. "We're expecting Mayor Thrift any day now to sign the surrender contract."

"Wonderful. 11?"

"We set fire to acres and acres of agriculture. They've sent people to 10, but we have a lovely surprise of twenty troops waiting for them."

Latel's pen flew over the pages, occasionally scratching out words. President asked a few more questions; 1, 2, 9, 5 and 6 were back in the Capitol's grasp, 4 and the Capitol were still battling out at sea, but it was looking pretty bad for the District, and 3, 7, 8, and 10 were going together in one final desperate act to win the Rebellion.

After his questions were answered, President Parch leaned back in his chair, propped up his feet on the War-map's edge and closed his eyes. A maniacal smile took over his face. The soldiers suddenly were all at attention, whispering among each other. Latel heard whispers of, "Did he take his pills?!", "I don't think so; quick, Amali, go get them!" and "It won't matter, he's insane, even with Panem's best medication!". But the woman named Amali slipped out of the doors, anyway.

"So," President Parch drawled, fingering a solid-gold fountain pen. "Don't you think that the Districts have been very naughty?"

No one responded. Latel paused, wondering if he should write this down. "Well?" President Parch said sharply, icy blue eyes snapping open.

"What do you say, Greto?" Commander Grenfell looked more than uncomfortable; running his fingers up and down his gun - a nervous habit of his, Latel observed.

"Er, yes, the Districts have disobeyed many rules and they've endangered the entire human species with their unruly behavior - "

"I asked for an opinion, not a lecture," President Parch gave Commander Grenfell an unimpressed look. "But that's beside the point. The thing is, don't you think they deserve a punishment?"

Commander Grenfell gulped, beads of sweat already appearing on his forehead. He was a brilliant war commander, but he cracked under the slightest pressure, rumored to be because of the torture-involving interrogations he received when he had been captured and held by the rebels.

"Exactly what type of punishment are you talking about, President Parch?" a coy, silky voice answered for Commander Grenfell. Rhiana Grenfell stepped out of the shadows, highlighted brown hair cascading down her shoulders like a waterfall, and the black markings around her eyes crinkled as she smiled. She balanced a silver platter of wine on piano nimble fingers, but the white dust of a melting tablet in the liquor didn't escape Latel, and Amali wasn't exactly being subtle by standing behind Rhiana with an aluminum packet of pills.

President Parch downed a goblet of "wine" without a second thought. "Ah, thank you, Rhiana, dear," he said, dabbing the corners of his mouth with a handkerchief. Commander Grenfell's shoulders sagged, and he let out an audible sigh of relief, thinking that the President had given up the topic. Of course, until President Parch said, "The type of punishment I'm talking about is the type that'll strike the rebels where it hurts the most, hard."

Rhiana was unmoved, leaning closer to President Parch as she massaged his shoulders. "Oh, really? Do tell me more, President Parch."

President Parch's eyes clouded over. "Certainly, my dear, certainly," he said. "We will have a competition. We'll choose one boy and girl from each District each year."

Rhiana nodded. "How about we call it The Reaping?"

President Parch grinned, agreeing enthusiastically, "Yes. We'll take them to the Capitol, and there they will immediately be sent to an arena to fight to death. Only one remains. The whole of Panem will have to watch it."

"Hmm," Rhiana hummed. "That sounds like a marvelous idea, President Parch. But twenty-four malnourished children - I'm assuming that you're going to cut their food supply after we win this revolution - go down quickly. This competition you have in mind - how about we make it like a televised sport? The rebels children will be dressed up, get their own suites, have delicious feasts with the most important of Panem - only to be sent into an arena to fight for their lives a few days later," Rhiana poured President Parch another cup. "And we'll even give them training, so they'll at least give the Capitol a good show before their gruesome demise."

"Spectacular idea, my dear!" President Parch cried, slamming his goblet down on the War-map. "We'll make the arena like a natural place, with woods, lakes, animals, and weapons."

Rhiana tilted her head onto her shoulder. "Shall we offer a prize, too? It will make the children want to enter this competition."

President Parch rubbed his stubble thoughtfully. "We could reserve a special str et in each of the Districts for the competitions' winners. And we'll also give them and their family an unlimited supply of food, clothing, and money. And we'll provide their District with the same things for an entire year," he paused, eyes becoming piercing for a second before fogging over once more. "But what shall we call this competition?"

"How about..." Rhiana smiled coldly, and Latel saw a malicious glint in her eyes that he hadn't noticed. "The Hunger Games."

"Perfect!" President Parch threw back his head, smirking in satisfaction. Everybody kept quiet. Commander Grenfell gave his wife an anxious look, and more than a few accusing stares were thrown Amali's way. She looked confused, staring at President Parch nervously with wide violet eyes.

"Well?" Rhiana's intense green eyes swept around the room before landing on Latel. "You. Secretary. What do you say about President Parch's idea?"

 _Just say that you think it's wonderful. Agree with President Parch and Rhiana_ , a reasonable voice inside of Latel said. But instead, he replied, "It's not very...civilized, is it?"

Everyone at the War-map looked at Latel in shock.

 _That's it, I'm dead_ , he thought, resisting his urge to slump down in his seat and hide.

"Civilized?" President Parch said sharply. "Are you saying that I'm uncivilized?" he attempted to stand up, but Rhiana gently pushed him back down in his seat, studying Latel.

"No, of course not, Your Honor!" Latel exclaimed. "It's just I think that - well, I mean, surely there's a more...democratic solution to this...?"

_Why are you still talking?_

"No there isn't!" President Parch roared, slamming his hands down on the War-map.

"B - but, sir, this is inhumane," Latel said, voice no more than a squeak under President Parch's daring stare. "Why must we punish children for crimes that their parents - the actual rebels - caused?"

"Do you know nothing?" President Parch sneered. "We must hit the rebels where it hurts: their children. They will watch their blood and flesh, who the rebels have manipulated into thinking their twisted way, die slowly and painfully."

Latel gulped, and he began to sweat again. Even some of the soldiers, clad in full body armor looked nervous. President Parch spread his arms, a wide, maniacal smile stretching his face to the limit.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen, loyal citizens of our beloved Capitol, may we begin the preparations for the rebels punishment?"

A murmur of agreement could be heard, but no one put their heart into it.

"Let the first-ever Hunger Games begin!"

It was at that moment that Latel saw the flecks of dried blood under the president's fingernails.

"And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!"

~~~

On the other side of Panem in District 12, a young girl by the age of nine sat on her porch - well, the remains of it, anyway. She gently patted her dog, smoothing down tangled fur, matted with blood. He hadn't had a shower in how many weeks? Five? Six? She didn't find it gross. After all, she hadn't showered for a longer time.

Her mother had locked her out of the house, insisting that there was something on television that wasn't meant for nine-year-old eyes, leaving only Barkis to guard her. Of course, she wasn't as naive as her mother thought. Even a nine-year-old knows when a rebellion is taking place, especially if her side is losing. Currently, she was pressed against her "house", which was basically a bunch of plaster shoved together in a square-like shape - all they could salvage from their old home. There were plenty of cracks in the plaster, and she could hear and see everything going on inside their makeshift living room.

"It's official, folks!" a Capitol reporter was saying, his accent so thick that she could barely make out the words. He was dressed elaborately in a crisp blue-and-white suit with diamonds for the buttons, and golden powder (no doubt made out of real gold) was sprinkled across his face. Waves of resentment hit her in the stomach. "All the Districts have surrendered to the Capitol. What a relief, huh, Ceria?"

"Oh, yes!" a woman off-screen laughed merrily. "I thank my lucky stars that those savage rebels aren't attacking us anymore. Did you know, just last week, District 5 had bombed Merli's place? I had nowhere to go to get my nails done!"

"Ah, well, thankfully, all that's done and over with," the reporter shuffled some papers around on his desk. "Now, President Parch has also made an announcement: the Districts will be punished for their rebellion."

"Uh oh," Ceria said, and the reporter laughed. "Yes, he plans to hold a competition every year, with two contestants from every District, where they'll fight to death in an arena!"

"Ooh, how exciting!" Ceria squealed. "Yes, it is! More details will be released next week, so don't miss President Parch's big announcement! It'll start at nine and end at eleven," the reporter cleared his throat. "Now, moving along, the Capitol has released a new show, called, 'Cornucopia', named after our anthem, of course. Now, Ceria, you won't believe it, but playing the lead role will be..."

She tuned everything else out. Through the cracks, she could see her older sister, Laurel, yell something at the television that definitely wasn't meant for nine-year-old ears. Her brother, though confined to a wheelchair because of his blown-up leg, reached up, trying to put a comforting hand on his sister's shoulder. Laurel shrugged him off, storming out the hole that mother called a front door. Her eyes softened only when they landed on her younger sister.

"Did you see all of that?" Laurel whispered, crouching down to her sister's level. She nodded.

"You shouldn't have, you know," Laurel gently chided her. "Those things are too confusing for a nine-year-old. You shouldn't have eavesdropped."

She wanted to rip herself out of her sister's grasp, no matter how much warmth they held. She wanted to scream at Laurel how she was so sick of that phrase, no matter how true it was. She wanted to say, "Those things might be too confusing for me, maybe I shouldn't have even eavesdropped, but I know that something big is going to happen. Something that's going to forever change our lives." But she couldn't.

All she could do was run her fingers over the mangled flesh that used to be her neck.


	2. Chapter One

Laurel 

"...and the family looked upon the hill in wonder, for on it sat a turreted castle made out of gold. Rubies, emeralds, diamonds, and every other jewel you could think of were studded along the walls, silk and sash curtains billowed out of glass stained windows, and shining silver gates, wrapped in the embrace of thousands of ivy-vines, swung open, welcoming the family," I said, pretending to read from the book. Fables and Fairytales of a Wisher was Hestia's favorite book, and she would be devastated if she found out that the pages had been burned right off by the fires. Thankfully, there was already a smell of smoke and ash in the air, thanks to those blasted Capitol bombs, and Hestia had already made me read the book to her so many times that I could recite every word from memory.

"Then what happened, Lu Lu?" Aero asked eagerly, filling for Hestia. He craned his neck at an awkward angle to see me, seeing as he was confined to the bed. All because of the stupid, selfish Capitol, I thought bitterly, clutching the book.

Gentle fingers pried mine off the charred pages. Hespia looked at her book worriedly, giving me the, "you're-going-to-hurt-it!" look. I inconspicuously pulled it a little closer to me, trying to hide the burnt insides. 

"Then the three little children ran up the hill, splashed merrily through the ponds and puddles, giggled down halls hung with ornamented mirrors until they found a humble little room, where they face-planted into the bed-sheets and went to sleep," my mother entered our "bedroom", pulling the covers over Aero. Hestia slipped off the couch and helped straighten out his mattress. 

"Please, Mom?" Aero begged. "We're almost finished, aren't we, Laurel?"

I pursed my lips; it was tempting to say yes. Staying up all night (the story actually had about fifty more pages) recounting old pieces of our favorite book was way better than living through nightmares. But I knew that we all needed sleep; we had a full day of recovering tomorrow. I'd promised Mayor Thrift that I would help rebuild the homes, my mother was to help regrow our crops, and my siblings were going to take care of the younger kids while their parents worked.

"Sorry, Bullet, but you'll need your rest to do your job tomorrow," I said, affectionally mussing up his hair. I called him Bullet since before his leg was blown up by the Capitol's bombs, he was the fastest runner there was in District 12, making him a kind of messenger between the District mayors. But he did look sort of like a bullet, dashing all around the place.

I pulled the covers over me and Hestia, careful not let it touch her throat. The flesh there was still tender and red from the fire that bombs brought. Thankfully, it didn't directly hit her vocal cords, but her neck was permanently damaged, and she wouldn't be able to speak for a long while, if ever. 

"Sweet dreams, Tia," I whispered, blowing out the single candle that lit up our room. " 'Night Bullet. 'Night Mother."

Everyone said their goodnights, and soon they all conked out. Except me, of course. Once I was sure that Hestia was asleep, I slipped out under the covers and pulled a coat, tip-toeing my way out of the front door. We all slept with our working clothes and boots on so we could make a quick escape if the Capitol bombed us again.

I wasn't going to get fooled by the rebels' confidence again.

Our house was hidden in the woods that separated us and 13. Well, the remains of it, I guess. It was hard imagining a whole District - one that made nuclear weapons, nonetheless - being crushed by the Capitol's iron grip on us, the walls crumbling. 

Another reason to fight them, a fiery voice inside hissed, propelling me further into our District. 

I kept close to the shadows, but not in a ninja-like way. How can you expect to go unnoticed by the new law officers the Capitol has appointed to each District - Peacekeepers, they call themselves - if you're leaping around doing cartwheels everywhere? I traveled along the perimeter of our District until I reached the Justice Building, where the lights were on.

Slipping inside the double mahogany doors, I was immediately hit with blinding lights. The floor was gray marble, and twin staircases led up to the second-floor landing. Two security guards on either side of the receptionist desk moved towards me, guns raised menacingly, but the secretary, a lanky, bespeckled man with a clipboard shook his head. "No, no, she's on the list. Luarel Cole, I presume?" he asked, checking off something. 

"Yes," I said cautiously. "Where's Mayor Thrift?"

"Upstairs," the secretary pointed over his shoulder with his pen. "Third floor, second door to the right of the staircase, secret room behind the bookshelf."

I nodded once and followed his instructions. As I pushed the heavy and dusty bookcase along (honestly, who keeps the entire twenty-book volume on Parch: Journey Into The Social Hierarchy?), I heard muffled voices. I felt along the wall behind the bookcase until I found a doorknob, which opened to a small and cramped room, where Mayor Thrift, Peacekeeper Wolfe - a Capitol citizen who sympathized with us - and a few other officials from 12 were gathered around a cobweb-covered table. 

"Ah, Miss Cole, so glad to have you here!" Mayor Thrift folded his hands on the table, leaning forward anxiously. He was a tall man in his mid-thirties, looking old and wizened in his dress robes and graying black hair pulled back in a thin blue ribbon. "You're just in time for the meeting."

I held his gaze, nodding respectfully, but didn't take a seat. Thrift would take it as an act of submission, confidence, and unity if I did that. I wanted to make sure that he knew this had to be good. 

"Over the course of the rebellion, we can all agree that Laural here has been the most responsive to change and one of the fastest to adjust," Thrift began in his monotonous voice. "We have also conceded that we must not bow down to the Capitol so easily - not without a good fight. This meeting will discuss how we will take them down.

"The Capitol's weakness is its confidence; they've just won the Rebellion, and they've already given out punishments - namely the Hunger Games," Thrift turned to Wolfe. "This is Thorin Wolfe, a Peacekeeper who has willingly risked his life to help us carry out our plan. What can you tell us about the Capitol, Thorin?" Thrift asked as if he were Ceaser Flickerman interviewing someone on his show. Except the Ceaser Flickerman had tact.

"Well, the Capitol has always had everything planned out," Thorin said immediately, and I knew that he had practiced his speech with Thrift many times before the actual meeting. "The Rebellion was unplanned, and they were highly unprepared for it. You can use the element of surprise against the Capitol, doing the most unexpected preposterous thing imaginable to shake them off their throne, especially when they're all busy planning the Hunger Games: send a citizen of 12 into the Capitol willingly."

I instantly knew what they were going to do. They'll make sure I get picked at "The Reaping", as Parch's calling it, and plant me as a spy. I'd report back to them, and they would gather enough information to take down Parch. I would be confined in the choking, stifling walls of the Capitol, being prepped and pampered for my painful death, while they're in the safe confines of the Justice Building, planning and plotting away with a digital war-map. 

Sounds fair, alright. 

I stared at Thrift, meeting his blue with my gray. The part of 12 I live in was poor and small; a little town compacted of little houses where everyone was practically related to everyone. We even developed similar looks, sharing gray eyes, raven hair, blackened by the soot and ash of coal mines, and olive skin. 

Thrift belonged to the city part of 12. He lived in the Towns Square, had never gone hungry, and was practically Parch's twin when comparing pretentiousness. 

"Are you so blind," I hissed furiously. "To think that I would willingly turn myself over to you just so you could waste our precious resources on a useless attack on the Capitol?" 

"Ah, but Miss Cole, I knew you would say that," Wolfe said, flashing me a cheerful smile. "See, we chose you because we thought that you showed the most potential, but also the most resilience and reluctance. However, I think I have just the thing to fix that."

He leaned forward, minty breath causing the hair on my neck to raise. 

"Remember who was there when your father died."

Too late, I realized that Wolfe was the real enemy. 

Memories flooded my mind as the dam walls broke. Tidal waves carried my mother's screams, the sound of explosions, and a blood curdling shriek that was most definitely not human. The ground had blown out from under my feet, Hestia was stumbling around, crying, Aero choked on the ash floating in the air. By the time the medics had arrived, my father had been torn to pieces by the mutts.

I couldn't tell if Wolfe was lying about being there to see my father's death since it was before the Districts' downfall, but he and Thrift would have files on my father, anyway. They would know that his own daughter had killed him.

I stared at Wolfe. "I don't really have a choice now, do I?"

**Author's Note:**

> What do you think? Feedback and critique welcome!


End file.
